Love Overboard - By Janet Evanovich Page 0,21
it. Losing control, losing perspective. It happened when you fell in lust, and she knew she was in lust. No big deal, she told herself. People fell in lust all the time, and it was all right as long as you didn’t mistake it for something more serious.
She leaned backward to look at him. “So this is what I’ve been missing all these years.”
“This is nothing. It gets better as you go along.”
She didn’t doubt him for a second. “How far along do you think we should go?”
He studied her for a moment. “I’ll let you decide that.”
“My original plan was to save myself for marriage.”
“Is this a proposal?”
Stephanie laughed. “No. Marriage seems a little drastic. I’m thinking of changing my game plan.”
Her hand strayed to the rope rigging at her side, and her fingers closed around a coil that felt oddly sticky. She brought the hand forward and stared at it. Curiosity was replaced by horror, crawling along her spine and knifing through her stomach. It was blood, she thought. Dark and fresh, staining her palm, seeping between her fingers. “Oh Lord,” she whispered, her voice hoarse with revulsion. “It’s blood.”
Ivan took a closer look and smiled. “No. It’s blueberry.” He put a finger into his mouth and sucked on it. “Yum.”
Stephanie put her hand to her head and closed her eyes until her heartbeat returned to normal.
Ivan stood beside her. “Are you okay?”
“We’ve got to stop kissing like that. It stops the oxygen flow to my brain. I thought it was blood.”
“An easy mistake to make in the dark. Some-body’s been by here with your pie.”
Stephanie looked at him. “How did it get on the rigging?”
Ivan retrieved his flashlight. “I’d say the pie thief was also a slob. Hold on, Watson! I think I’ve got something.” He reached behind the rope and found the carving knife. “The murder weapon,” he said. “I can guarantee that this knife was used to murder your pie. As anyone can see, it’s covered with blueberry blood.”
“Gee, I don’t know if I’m relieved or disappointed. I was sort of hoping it would turn out to be Aunt Tess.”
“The blue-haired woman from hell must have ditched the knife when she jumped overboard.” He flashed the spotlight over the side, sweeping it over the water and the yawl. “Now, that’s an interesting piece of maritime equipment,” he said, shining the beam on Stephanie’s panties, draped across the yawl seat.
Stephanie felt a blush creep up her neck. “I was in a hurry.” She swung a leg over the gunwale and quickly scrambled down to the boat. She’d retrieved the scrap of pink lace and had started up the ladder, when her eye caught a flash of movement through a cabin window. She carefully edged closer to get a better look and found herself staring into two large, black-rimmed eyes in a face framed by blue-and-green spiked hair.
Ivan leaned over the side. “What’s going on?”
“I’ve found the woman from hell, and she’s not dead—she’s just punk. The ladies didn’t hear a splash, because when Ms. Blue Hair jumped, she grabbed hold of the ladder and swung herself through the open cabin window. Was this cabin supposed to be empty?”
Ivan nodded. “We had a last-minute cancellation.”
Stephanie pulled herself up to the deck and looked for a place to stash her panties. “I don’t have any pockets,” she said, examining her sweats.
Ivan took the panties from her and stuffed them into the front pocket of his jeans. “First we’ll go belowdecks to meet our stowaway, then I think we’ll have a talk with Ace.”
“Jeez,” the young woman said when they opened her cabin door, “you scared the bejeebers out of me. What were you doing out there? Don’t you know it’s rude to peep in people’s private windows?”
“Ship’s security,” Stephanie said. “You’re under arrest. You stole my pie. Do you know how long it took me to make that pie?”
“I needed it. You get scurvy when you’re on a ship if you don’t eat pie.”
“What were you doing in Mrs. Pease’s cabin this morning?” Ivan asked her. “And how do you get your hair to look like that?”
“I went up to the ice chest to get some mayo for my sandwich, and when I came back, I accidentally walked into the wrong cabin. Man, can that old lady scream, or what?” She touched her hand to her hair. “You like my hair? I did it with spray paint and starch.”
The stairs creaked, and Ivan turned in time to see